


Hours til Dawn

by helena_s_renn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begun in my fic "Final Dark of Night", the story continues as Sam makes his appearance. Could as well've called it Last Night on Earth, but no, for obvious reasons. Perhaps I'm not the only one who noticed that Sam and Jo shared, if not a kiss, then one hell of a look...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hours til Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: threesome (kind of), slash + het, references to Sam's relationship history, prelude to Ep 5.10, "Abandon All Hope".
> 
> Beta by Christian.Howe

It galled her that Dean had gone to Hell to save Sam’s life. Till the elder had resurfaced, she would have been quite happy to never set eyes on the too-long, too-angular face ever again. More recently, rumor said, Sam had succumbed to then kicked a demon blood addiction. Supposedly. Word got around of his inauspicious track record with women: the perfect 10, six-foot blond co-ed with nearly the IQ of Sam himself, burned to death on the ceiling with her womb cut out, just like his sainted mother; a werewolf girl who’d been turned against her will, mercy-killed rather than live as a monster; his demon bitch – ‘nuff said, snuffed on her own blade. To touch him, even look at him, meant a horrific, bloody death. If Jo was going to bite it hunting, it wasn’t going to be thanks to fucking Sam Winchester. 

Because she was. Going to fuck him. All the caution in the world didn’t invalidate the fact that she was violently attracted to him despite his alien nature. Or because of it. And repelled at the same time. If she felt small beside Dean, then make that downright miniscule next to Sam. She’d noticed him sizing her up, studying her hips and the dimensions of her. With Dean, it was always if he would, or if she would, or maybe when they would. Well, after all this time, they had. Sam, she was pretty sure, assessed whether she could. Take it from him. Handle him. Be able to accommodate him shoving it up into her without it breaking her. Fuck him, that he doubted. Caution to the winds.

So as he waited in the darkened doorway, scenting the sex-laden air, head nearly touching the top of the frame, Jo decided that like so many things, it boiled down to willingness and preparedness. Fair to say she was fucked out. Dean had given her more of everything than she’d ever had: more of a head-rush, a bigger cock, a level of caring. 

But Sam stood over her, taking off his shirt without a word, and that was it. He had something more, and that wasn’t to say he overshadowed his brother, it was another dimension. Sam needed something he couldn’t find. Something like absolution. Every attempt had been thwarted by whatever curse was locked into his life and into his blood. Underneath her satiation rose a new raw need, unexplainable. The forbidden--two of them and one of her--stung of lusting for something previously unrealized and just now understanding all the angles. Seeing them – naked together in one bed. 

It might be a gift. It might be a curse. She had to know. 

Rising to wobbly knees, movement beside Jo jiggled the mattress. 

“Mine!” she hissed. In this, if she hesitated, she would be shunted aside. To the edge of the bed, where she could touch that firm, over-warm skin, Jo let herself be sucked into the vortex of his heat and up onto her feet there, rising over Sam, not much. He reached for her, eyes gone wide open and scared... 

For her. It sort of pissed her off, gave her a momentary urge to go sharpen her knife and reload some shells. 

“Mine.” A statement of fact, Dean’s deep voice claimed ownership as natural as the man it emanated from breathed. Yet he placed a single kiss on Sam’s belly and backed off. On his own section of the bed, Dean curled onto his side, up on one elbow. His cock lay fat and glistening upon his inner thigh, growing fast, and he reached for it. 

Huge hands skimmed Jo’s back, the narrow dip of her waist, the fullness of her hips, her ass, then back up. The touch shivered her, so light for a man that size and obvious strength. Sam’s fingers wove through her long hair, his other arm going around to pull her against him, down close. When she looked again, his eyes had shut. He let her cling to his body as he lowered them down. Since the demon night, she hadn’t touched him at all, not a hug or even a simple touch on the arm, nothing. So strange, how different than Dean he felt against her, everything soft-over-hard, be it the taut musculature covered by buttery skin or his manner, hair-triggered coiled aggression. 

Lust for the body, nor even the effort of restraint, could account for all the trembles that chased themselves through him, though Jo found him more than ready when she opened his belt and reached into his jeans. Suede over steel, like his whole body, straining and wet. He’d heard everything, she knew it now. He had to have been outside their door almost the entire time. Voyeuristic bastard. Probably did that with Dean’s lays a lot. Sam’s mouth found hers, cutting off any noise about it. Stupid as it was, she took pride in the knowing of it all, the trust they placed in her and everything it meant, though she couldn’t begin to know what it felt like, for them. After a moment’s hesitation, Jo’s bare feet pushed his pants down so she could have all that pressed to her, wrap her legs around him, draw him in. 

“Sloppy seconds, Sam,” Dean rasped in the near-darkness. 

“Don’t mind, sliding in you,” Sam’s reply was for both. 

The first couple of inches took her by storm, but he slowed until she begged for every single millimeter, every caress he was ungodly generous with. Jo’s lips pleaded for one more kiss; her tongue for more lick; the painful tips of her breasts mashed into his torso, for any spare touch. He gave her his cock, perfect to spread her, drill her deeper. So incongruous it scared her, Sam gave it gentle, curving up his back so he could make love to her tits, pale and tiny next to his face but swelled under feathering breath, hot suction and grunting little pulls. 

“Please, Sammy...” She didn’t whine, but when Jo bleated for more, an echo came like a rumble of thunder out of the dark. No one got to use that diminutive but Dean, yet they didn’t correct her for it. Sam rained intermittent drops of salty warmth upon her face as he gave her his body that kept its lithe, churning cadence, but was so tense above her; she could feel every line of him vibrating nervous energy. 

“He does that,” Dean whispered, close by, licking at the wetness combining with hers and she didn’t understand why the tightness in her chest was suddenly too much. His slick lips sought Sam’s, crossing across the snarl for a brief moment, like a promise, and he was gone again. Pupils wide, blown, consuming his slanted, heavy-lidded eyes, Sam focused his attention back to Jo; she tasted Dean on his tongue when he kissed her. Like surrender, she opened to him, for he needed this just like Jo had when she’d stumbled up here earlier to scratch the years-old itch. In the end, the pace hitched, broke into a raunchy gallop, the two of them to crash and arch till it strained their muscles, Sam’s hips moving in slick figure eights, faster and faster. 

Suddenly Dean appeared behind Sam, whose head came up in sharp awareness. Breath coming out in several short bursts, Sam arched, his thighs pushing apart. He didn’t stop fucking Jo, only slowed. 

“Good, Sammy, work yourself open on me.” Dean dissolved into moans and gasps that sounded unnaturally high. His face took on the personification of religious ecstasy, and Sam just kept backing onto him, shoving into Jo, backward and forward between them. 

The knowledge of what they were doing allowed her to let go, growling like an animal. Over Sam’s shoulder, Dean’s eyes glittered down at her. It was a personal challenge issued hunter to hunter, “Keep up, outsider.” Every shove into his brother sent shock waves through Sam and into her, body and mind, so deep. Each thrust thudded that heavy long male frame’s limbs and the hard, contoured strength of his torso, faster till Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head. Under the red lines of the devil’s trap, Dean groaned his brother’s name, Sam splashed into her, a waterfall of sticky heat, and it was over.

Legs wrapped around them both, Jo caught her breath. Dean peeled away. For a few seconds, he was beside her, an arm’s length away, though, as if he were giving her and Sam space. Jo didn’t want it. Their eyes met briefly; she reached out a hand, needing a touch of that warm pale gold skin, even now more familiar than the younger brother, who was still sprawled over her, sweaty and twitching. Unable to reach Dean’s shoulder, his hip, anything, Jo pushed at Sam, twisted under him, but he dug his nail-bitten fingers into her shoulders, like he wanted to cuddle. She supposed she had time for that. 

One eye on Dean, who stood and covered himself, pulled on his clothes one piece at a time, she held on. Just that. Breathed the air Sam breathed, let him touch her like a ghost of a shadow. Over in the murky corner of the room, an old wooden chair protested creakily as Dean sat there, leaning it back against the wall. He was humming, low, Blind Faith. An eerie tingle along her nerves told her it meant something she wasn’t privy to, these two and their secrets. Sam’s head came up, the fall of his hair across his cheekbones chiseling into Jo’s guts. He opened his eyes in the direction of his brother and it was clear, more than ever: the two of them, the two as one, existed beyond her now, for all time. 

The burden of destiny crushed down. Finality closed over her.

An hour later, Sam uncurled his limbs from around her, rose and padded to the window and parted the curtain an inch to spy out. Red-orange highlighted his naked form as he peered outside. Multiple shafts of light surrounding him blinded her eyes. Jo could make out the tight musculature of his arms, the perfect arch of his spine dipping to curve of ass, legs as long as redwoods, the lower hint of his sac, now relaxed and hanging, his hair limned like fire. Again, she looked to the corner, eyes two slitted squints. She couldn’t see a thing. 

Morning. 

 

Fin.


End file.
